Lifeless Eyes
by Nyxelestia
Summary: Being deleted, so just ignore it.
1. For The Love of Jack

**A/N: Immediately Post-Scorpia, and Part I of my Night Cast Series.**

**The first chapter is a little slow, but it'll get better by the end of this first chapter, I promise.**

**EDIT: After discovering Alex's birthday to be probably around mid-February, and knowing that the post-Scorpia time-frame is set mid-October, I've editing some of the details to match up, mostly concerning Alex's birthday. It has no impact on the overall story.**

* * *

_"Happy recovery to you…happy recovery to you…happy recovery, dear Alex…happy recovery to you…"_

The blonde teenager on the hospital bed blinked in the obnoxious hospital light as Jack's voice slowly floated around him. Slowly, he turned over to look towards the red-headed American.

"Huh?" he managed, one eye open and slightly slurred. She giggled at him.

"Alex! Your doctor officially declares you out of the danger zone. You'll recover, full on!"

Figures. No wonder the woman butchered the happy birthday song for this sake.

"What about sleep?" he said, groaning a little, still drowsy from the pain medication.

Her smile suddenly flattened in concern.

"Well, if you want to sleep, sleep! You obviously still need it. But before you do…"

She pulled out something from a plastic bag – he could hear the rustle – out of his sight on the floor by the bed, before bringing up the clear, plastic box.

He gasped and sat upright, wincing but letting the pain from his chest pass as he grinned at the cake before him. Small on its own, but large enough for just two people.

"Is it…?"

"Thick, lemon-vanilla cake, diced strawberry in the middle, chocolate frosting, and minty sprinkles on top. Do you really think I'd forget your 'favorite cake in the whole wide world'? Especially after being shot?"

He smiled and held out his arms as she hugged him.

"You're getting spoiled, Alex, with all the stuff you've been getting as 'get-well' presents and 'sorry you were shot' presents…as depressing as that is."

"What's depressing about your famous Dream Day Cake?" he asked happily, already pulling off the lid of the box.

"Alex! You don't even have forks or plates, yet."

He didn't even pause.

"I have fingers, don't I?"

She laughed again, pulling out a few paper-plates and forks, anyway, while helping him open the box, what with Alex still not fully coherent, and fingers not as dexterous, from his drug induced sleep.

For a little while, they remained content with just arguing over the cake, and the different football teams on the TV at that moment, along with the latest movies coming out, and general pointless chatting Alex had come to miss so much.

"…so can we settle on a Doctor Who marathon?" Alex finally said about plans for the weekend when he went home.

She grinned and nodded, and he rolled his eyes. But he wasn't going to complain. Arguing about the most mundane things was nice.

There was a knock at the door, and Dr. Hayward came in with a smile.

"Hello, Alex," he said. "Enjoying your impending discharge?"

"Yea."

"Mm, please, put that cake away…don't you know it's rude to taunt a diabetic with a cake as good looking as that?"

"It's sugar free…" Jack said with a wink. The doctor laughed good naturedly as he walked over to adjust the IV and give Alex a check-over.

"If all goes well, you'll be out of here by tomorrow morning," he said after a few moments.

"Finally!" Alex said with a joyous fist pump. He'd already spent over ten days in here – anymore, and he'd go crazy.

Another round of laughs.

"So," Alex said after a moment. "When can I go back to school?"  
"Not for another two weeks, at least," the doctor said. "You need to rest!"

"…damnit."

"You must be the only boy in England who _wants_ to go back to school," Jack said while putting the lid back on the cake she baked that morning, fresh for her charge's birthday.

He shrugged. "I'm just really behind is all."

Jack's face seemed to harden for a second, but the doctor just shook his head.

"Well…with your 'special status', I'm not surprised at all."

A few more medical things, mostly the doctor telling Alex how often to come in for physical therapy, the amount of rest he should take, and what he needed to know about his pain meds once he left the hospital.

Alex sighed when the doctor left.

"Just one more day and I'm out of here…Jack? What's wrong?"

The red head sighed.

"I'm thinking on how to get you a full-time tutor."

"What?!"

"You _are_ so far behind…" she said. "I think I'll get you one later today.

"Jack!"

"You need it, Alex. Bloody MI6 and all – hell, _they_ should be providing you with a tutor. There's a lot of stuff they should be doing-"

"But they won't," Alex cut in. "So let's just forget it and get back to that cake."

She smiled wryly.

"You and that cake…"

"Well, it's the only thing you'll cook that takes longer than ten minutes," Alex said. "I mean…why do you think I like to do all the cooking, most of the time?"

Alex didn't even flinch, but only smiled, when she thwacked him upside the head for that.

* * *

A day later, Alex was discharged.

They stopped briefly at home, but both also decided the house was too boring on such a bright and sunny day.

So, they went to the park, instead.

And obviously, Alex had to act like a child in the park.

"Alex…Alex…come back here!"

Laughing, Alex ran between the trees in the park with Jack's hat in his fingers as she chased after him. It was great to run without having to run for his life again, even if it did mean dull, throbbing aches from his chest.

That, though, did cause him to slow down as Jack caught up to him, both of them stopping for a rest. Alex smiled as he leaned against Jack's chest and she wrapped her arms around him comfortingly, sneakily taking back her hat, but sitting down right beside him against a large tree trunk.

Both were panting – despite being in pain, Alex was still a fast runner – but it was nice, not panting from fighting for his life, but just running away with a friend's hat.

"Are you all right?" Alex said laughingly, pointing to the leaves in her hair. She scowled mockingly.

"Damn you and your legs."

He pouted good naturedly.

"But Jack, it was fun!"

She shook her head.

"What on Earth am I going to do with you?" she said. After a moment, she paused. "How are you?"

He knew what she was asking about.

"My chest it fine. Sore, but fine."

She sighed.

"It feels horrible to have to ask about a bullet wound."

"I'll be fine," Alex said. Then he smiled. "_After_ we get some ice cream."

"…are you seriously using your bullet wound to get some ice cream out of me?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's working. _Come_ on, up we go…"

Helping each other up and heading towards the edge of the grove of trees, Alex laughed as Jack tripped over roots and was hit in the face again with a branch. Even after being shot, Alex was still more graceful in between the trees…though it'd simply become more of an instinct than anything else.

Later, he'd reflect on this moment.

Alex's eyes skimmed over the scene in front of them, the people in the trees, the grass beyond, as he waited for Jack to right himself.

He didn't notice the man when they started walking.

Jack, however, did notice…if just a split second too late.

"Alex…why is that man watching us?" she asked under her breath while Alex tried to argue vanilla ice cream over chocolate.

Alex immediately tensed up, while both of them kept talking after wards to keep up appearances.

He paused at a moment, as if thinking about the ice cream.

"It's not a good thing when someone's watching you. Ever."

She nodded slightly.

"Turn in the other direction?" She offered, already changing her direction just slightly to veer away.

Alex nodded…and then he made the stupidest mistake of his life – and Jack's.

He looked back.

And the man noticed – and sprung into action.

He sprinted forward and towards them…

…with a gun in his hands, eyes on the pair in the trees.

"RUN!"

At least Jack knew when to listen to Alex.

Alex led them both, running away from the man, trying to stay near the edges but still in the denser parts of the trees.

_BANG_

_-crack!_

A bullet hit a tree trunk over their shoulder. Jack screamed but Alex grabbed her hand and tugged her along, away from the probably-Scorpia-sent killer.

"Jack," Alex said. "Don't stop – just zig zag!"

_BANG_

BANG

Alex fought the urge to shut his eyes as far too many memories came with that sound. Almost immediately came to him the memories of a training exercise in Malagosto while training under Scorpia. At the very least, he learned quite a bit under Scorpia.

_BANG_

The man must have a lot of bullets on him. Or he was new, and stupid. He really hoped it was the second one…but knowing Scorpia, not likely.

Alex yanked Jack behind a wall of trees, before pulling her forward again, jumping over some brush and hiding there for a moment.

They heard the footsteps keep going, and Alex momentarily sighed in relief.

"Shit," Alex said after a moment.

"Alex," Jack said, pale and shaking. "Why don't…you looked…scared shitless?"

Alex gave her a grave look.

"I'm used to it."

For a moment, her watery blue eyes bore deep into his own.

"Really?"

One loaded word that almost made Alex shake his head, say it was a joke. But instead, he simply leaned his head and turned to look through the leaves. The lack of response answered Jack's question.

"Alex," she said. "How can-"

"I'll explain later," he said.

"No, now."

"Look, it's simple: I piss people off when MI6 does or doesn't send me someplace, and they have a tendency of coming after me with guns."  
She shook her head, a single tear already sliding down her normally cheerful face.

"Alex, you shouldn't be-"

"Well I am…now please, quiet down – I need to listen. It's important."

She swallowed and nodded as Alex listened carefully.

Shit, those footsteps were heading back their way.

Jack's eyes widened, and so did her lips a moment later, so Alex clamped a hand over her mouth, hissing a low "shhh" into her ear while the man passed by yet again, until the footsteps faded.

Alex silently pointed in the opposite direction, trying to use the shadows as a small cover, though it was of little help.

"Back to the park," Alex whispered. "We can get some help."

Meanwhile, Alex was already pulling out the iPhone Smithers had sent him for a 'get well' gift, dialing Smithers' number on speed dial.

"Alex?"

"Smithers!" Alex said lowly when he was sure the killer was well away. "Listen, track the signal in the GPS – Jack and I are being chased by someone with a gun, probably Scorpia."

"What?! Right away! I'll get Blunt on it. Listen, on the back, tap the Apple logo of the phone three times, and when the logo sticks out, twist it once counter-clockwise and push it back down. That should activate an emergency signal to get Blunt's attention until I can get to him."

"Thanks," Alex said, almost breathless while running.

For a moment, he and Jack found some more bushes, just near the edge of the trees, and close to the creek, while he stopped behind a rock and did as Smithers told, Jack watching in confusion but amazement.

"Are you all right?" Jack asked again.

Actually, Alex's chest was on fire again, but he wasn't going to say that. He smiled and nodded, asking the same of her with the same answer.

"All right," Alex said. "About twenty meters to our left is a road – if we can get on it, cross the street before the man catches up, we can go into the mall and get lost in the crowds. Scorpia won't dare let him shoot in a place to public."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "They don't exactly seem to care about human life."

"Maybe, but right now, they've only got MI6 after them specifically, and even they need to keep up a form of politics. Killing one MI6 agent won't get major attention, as opposed to a mall full of people. Besides, this man can't have that many bullets, and it would take too long to search for us – he'd have to find us later."

"Alex?"

"What?"

"You're not an MI6 agent."

"…I know."

With that, they ducked as Alex faintly heard more footsteps.

Running, searing pain, running, searing pain. Alex did his best to work through the pain, just like his uncle had always taught him. Pain was a simple relay of neuro-electric signals in the body to alert you that something was wrong. You knew what was wrong, so pain was pointless.

"Left," Alex forced out through clenched teeth, and pulled her out, towards the street, and the creek, and where more people were.

Jack followed behind, tripping for just a moment, both of the smiling in relief as finally, someone else came into view – a man in a food-stand.

And he seemed to see the man with a gun behind them.

He pulled out the phone, also beckoning to them, while Alex sighed in relief as another _BANG_ went off from the gun behind them.

"…Alex…"

It was then that Alex noticed the resistance on his hand.

He turned back to see Jack slowing down…

…and bleeding.

On her chest.

Just by her heart.

"Jack…" Alex said in horror. Immediately, he pulled her behind another series of bushes, giving them a momentary cover from the gunman, as he did his best to press his hand over the wound, feeling her warm blood seep between his fingers.

"Please, Jack, just hang on, all right? I did, you can too, please…"

"…Alex…" she said, her eyes wide in pain and shock, but mostly shock. "…be careful…all right?"

"Yes, I will, I promise, just stay fucking here, stay with me-"

"Don't get hurt," came out the hoarse whisper.

"I won't, if you stay," Alex said, not even noticing his tears landing on his hand and her wound. He was sobbing and he didn't even notice. "Please…"

"…love you, remember that, I love you," she mumbled, already her eyes glassing over. "I always loved you…stay all right…"

"No, Damnit, don't leave!" Alex said.

"…'ll miss you…love you…" she mumbled.

Alex pressed down on her bullet wound, but a moment later, he felt for himself as her pulse faded and she went still, blood leaking out at a steady pace now with no leftover pulse to push it.

"Jack…please…no…." Alex said, his chest aching horribly in a way that had nothing to do with the bullet lodged in there just two weeks prior.

But that mental image, he knew, would be seared into his memory forever. Jack, the cheerful, loving, red-headed American, lying on the ground, covered in blood from her gaping bullet wound, her face frozen in shock, skin pale and cold…

And most of all, her horrifying stare right into Alex's dark brown eyes. Those baby-blues were what he would remember most of this for the rest of his life – lifeless eyes.


	2. First Kill

**_First Kill_**

**A/N:**** Super long A/N coming up…none of it's really a necessary read, except for the paragraph in all bold. But you can skip that to, just refer back to it if my English seems a little off later in the chapter.**

I just recently learned something while looking up Alex Rider on Wikipedia: Alex's birthday, while the year is still unknown, was on January 13th, while Ark Angel, the time-frame post-Scorpia, was in early October. **I'm **_**really**_** sorry**, as I normally try my best to be absolutely accurate.

Oh, and… (blushes) There's been a little confusion with the story summary, so let me explain. This story was going to be a lot longer, but I decided to break it up into two parts at the last minute, but I forgot to change the story summary to reflect that. Here's the real summary for this story:

"Part I of the Night Cast Series. Alex really tried to save Jack's life…but she still ended up dead. And he doesn't take it very well. In fact, he killed someone over it. And now, everything is changing because of it. Can he handle it? Post-Scorpia."

**Oh, and: it might later seem, with the run-on and/or clipped sentences, ****that I look like I have zero knowledge of the English language****. However, it's because this particular part of the series is written in **_**stream-of-consciousness**_** style****, which means I'm really writing it like it happens inside his head, and people rarely thing in neat, grammatically correct sentences.**

Wow…I have _got_ to learn how to write concise. These A/N's are scaring me.

* * *

_**Previously:**_

_"Jack…please…no…." Alex said, his chest aching horribly in a way that had nothing to do with the bullet lodged in there just two weeks prior._

_But that mental image, he knew, would be seared into his memory forever. Jack, the cheerful, loving, red-headed American, lying on the ground, covered in blood from her gaping bullet wound, her face frozen in shock, skin pale and cold…_

_And most of all, her horrifying stare right into Alex's dark brown eyes. Those baby-blues were what he would remember most of this for the rest of his life – lifeless eyes._

* * *

For a few moments, he stared in horror at his loving guardian, the woman who'd basically taken care of him for the last seven years, and one of his best friends in his whole damn life…he watched her cold eyes stare right into his eyes, unable to see…

A shadow fell across them, and Alex more felt than heard the metallic click as the gun was pressed to the back of his head.

"Sorry, kid," was all that was said.

And that so-called apology was all it took for all the rage in Alex to go from frozen in shock to searing pain in his whole body, agony and misery all boiling his blood at once, just waiting to explode-

"You killed her," he rasped. And that was it.

Alex ducked to the side with his arm sweeping up as the trigger was pulled. He didn't really feel the burning on his cheek from where the bullet grazed him. All he felt was his arm catching the man's wrist as he tried to disable him of a gun.

But the man was Scorpia-trained, and wasn't put off that easily.

He bent his whole arm and freed himself, but not before Alex had reeled and lashed out with his foot, almost blindly, at the man who killed Jack.

Punch, kick, kill, hurt, maim, punch, kick, kill, hurt, maim, that was all Alex could think in his rage as he went after that horrible, evil man, the one that could possibly do this…

"YOU KILLED JACK!" Alex practically screamed at him.

The man was striking back, and probably landed many a blow on Alex, himself. He wasn't sure, he couldn't feel, he wasn't there, he was just in his head, a corner of him screaming inside while he lashed out and attacked outside, just attacked, all that rage flying out in his hands and feet. He didn't see the foodstand man staring in horror or hear the sirens blaring and he no longer could smell or taste the blood in the air.

Alex didn't know when he'd felt the cold metal of the gun in his hand.

He didn't remember trying to wrestle the gun away from the man.

He didn't know or remember how it'd gotten into his hand, sandwiched between the two bodies, his finger on the trigger.

All he remembered was looking into the man's hardened eyes, momentarily terrified in realization as he stared into the raw rage in Alex's eyes.

"Goodbye, murderer," Alex was sure he said, softly.

Then all he remembered was pulling the trigger, feeling the immense power travel up his arms and through his pained shoulders as the deadly little sliver of metal flew out the other end towards the man before him.

All he watched that man fall as a red, gaping hole appeared in his stomach, gushing blood all over Alex's hand and front, Alex feeling the fading heart beat and the spine shattering, through the gun, before the man fell onto the grass.

He'd was vaguely that he was turning his head to see out of the corner of his eyes as the food-stand man fainted, and the policemen got out of their cars to stare at him in shock, themselves, with a few glances of additional horror.

Alex slowly looked up from there towards Jack's dead body, on the grass behind the bushes but in front of him, staring up into the heavens…her new home.

He knew his whole body was shaking, but he couldn't find it in himself to truly care.

The young man turned his head slowly towards the other direction, the policemen stared, before one slowly started walking in his direction.

"Kid," he said slowly approaching. "Give me the gun…he can't hurt you know…you'll be all right…"

No, no, never, he'll never be all right. Jack was dead, and he just bloody _killed_ someone, how could things be all right, ever all right, ever again? It just wasn't possible, this man was lying-

No, he wasn't lying, he just didn't know the whole story, everything behind this entire moment, all the true horrors besides a teenager having just killed someone, but that this teenager was no ordinary teenager, and this dead man had been no ordinary man…

Alex slowly nodded, a haze settling in his mind, turning the gun around quite expertly, handing it to the bobby professionally, obviously surprising him, probably wondering what a teenager was doing having such knowledge of guns, but he didn't say or ask anything, just taking it carefully.

As soon as that happened, as soon as Alex let go of the gun, he let go of his anchor to the moment, to reality, and simply muttered, "Thanks…but you were too late…"

And then his vision faded as he fell back and his blackened mind fell into blissful darkness, away from the horrifying reality that was his life, and all he could see in his mind's eye were the dead man's lifeless eyes.

* * *

**A/N: I don't know what I'm thinking in updating this fast, but I'm doing it. (Further proof I've gone off the deep end).**

**Sorry for the grammatical errors or anything like that. It's 1:32 in the morning and I've been getting about 5 hours of sleep a night since Saturday, so sue me (actually, please don't, because I only have about three dollars left to my name and I really need new ear phones).**

**Sorry for all inaccuracies, though. I appreciate honesty (I'm the only person in the universe who looks forwards to flames, alongside the other types of reviews), and thus if you see ANY mistake at all, please feel free to point it out to me.**


	3. Debriefing

**A/N:**** Journal article edited to sound more objective and realistic. I forgot the rules of journalism in the original version. The edits have no impact on the story.  
**

* * *

_**Previously:**_

_Alex slowly nodded, a haze settling in his mind, turning the gun around quite expertly, handing it to the bobby professionally, obviously surprising him, probably wondering what a teenager was doing having such knowledge of guns, but he didn't say or ask anything, just taking it carefully._

_As soon as that happened, as soon as Alex let go of the gun, he let go of his anchor to the moment, to reality, and simply muttered, "Thanks…but you were too late…"_

_And then his vision faded as he fell back and his blackened mind fell into blissful darkness, away from the horrifying reality that was his life, and all he could see in his mind's eye were the dead man's lifeless eyes._

* * *

_"Alex…Alex…Alex Rider…can you hear me? Alex?"_

Slow, careful blinking, as that familiar voice drifted in through his ears.

"Alex?"

His eyes fully opened, him groaning. God, it hurt…everything hurt…

"Mrs. Jones?"

Her slightly blurry face smiled in relief, while he blinked to clear it.

All too soon, he remembered.

He sat bolt right up, realizing he was on a gurney in the ambulance.

"Alex," the deputy head of hell said, putting an impossibly-gentle hand on his chest. "Take it easy-"

"Where's Jack?" he growled, pushing himself off.

"Alex-"

"Where is she?!"

Most everyone in the vicinity turned to stare at him, but he didn't care. He gave up caring a long time back.

Mrs. Jones sighed, before simply pointing to her left and a little bit behind Alex, before he immediately reeled, and stopped short at the sight of the corpse before him.

It just wasn't right, for Jack's body to be bathed in such bright, early-afternoon sunlight and yet still be so pale and so cold, her lips tinged darkly as her vacant eyes stared upwards at a sun she'd never see.

Alex ignored all the crowds leaning in to watch behind the police-made barriers as he slowly walked forward to stand right next to her, taking her hand in his.

Her skin was ice cold.

So cold…it wasn't supposed to be so cold, no in this weather, not in his sun, not with what she was wearing, but it was…

"Jack…" he said shakily. He didn't know if he was crying. He didn't care.

If he made a scene, he didn't care, as his chest started shaking and he started shaking his head, shaking the tears away.

The last person he truly had left on this planet. The last family he had. She really was all he had left, and now even she gone, lost to the world of espionage that they never wanted to be a part of.

She was lost forever, and it was all his fault.

He felt a calming hand on his shoulder but rolled it off, stepping away from it and stepping closer to Jack's face, everyone else nearby having the common sense to stay away from him and this private moment, the police moving to keep him out of sight, not that it helped, not that he cared…

"Jack…" he said. Saying her name wouldn't help, but he couldn't. But she didn't even look asleep, she looked dead, Damnit. "I'm so bloody sorry…"

His tears fell against her sleeve. When had he started crying? He wasn't supposed to be crying, Damnit!

He slowly leant down, his chin resting in the crook her elbow, just like he always did at home, when he wanted to just be _close_ to someone, because there was never someone he could be close to…but now the only person in the world he ever trusted completely was gone…she was all he had left…

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry, please, I never meant for you to get hurt, please, I'm sorry Jack, I promised, I promise, please…"

Mrs. Jones came up.

"Alex-"

"Leave me alone."

His voice was harsh. Impossibly harsh. But he didn't care. Alex didn't want to deal with this – or with Mrs. Jones. She was the one who shoved him into this world to begin with. He didn't want to deal with her.

"Alex, you have to come with me-"

"Get away!" Alex shouted, not even looking up, eyes still locked on Jack's pristine face. "Get away from us, you manipulative, ruthless, heartless little bitch!"

He didn't care if she was hurt, and he didn't look to check. She probably didn't care, either, didn't have a heart. After all, how could someone with a heart have sent a child like Alex into an everlasting war that was their world, bring him into the fatal, destructive lifestyle?

"Jack," he mumbled. "I'm so sorry…"

He pressed his eyes into the crook of her elbow, and for just one, last time he drew comfort from Jack as he cried just for her.

One last time.

* * *

He didn't know how long he'd stood there, but soon enough, Alex was being forcibly pulled away as her body was loaded into the ambulance, and Mrs. Jones gently pulled him away from the entire crime scene.

A black car, a nice Mercedes C300, pulled up, and Alex and Mrs. Jones slipped quietly inside. He was suddenly stifled in quiet as soon as the door was closed and he numbly settled himself in, not even thinking about it…not thinking about anything, really, Jack's cold face still saturating his brain.

"Alex?"

Alex swallowed but simply pulled his knees up to his chest before turning to look at Mrs. Jones.

"Yea?"

She paused.

"Are you all right?"

"Yea," was the automatic answer, a little too quick, before turning his head back to face the back of the front seat, his chin on his knees, and eyes completely blank as they headed down a familiar route towards MI6 headquarters.

"Alex," Mrs. Jones said again. "What happened?"

An assassin came after them in _broad daylight_ and Alex still let him kill Jack, that's what.

"Alex?"

And when she was shot, he couldn't even save her, not a single chance, and he had leaned over her while she died right in his arms, right under his hands.

"Alex…what happened?"

And when the man came after them, Alex lost it and shot the man right in the stomach and shattered his spine, killing him almost instantly, both of them getting covered in blood.

"Alex…"

So much blood, everywhere, his hands, his clothes, his knees, so much blood on his hands, now, just so much _fucking blood_ just _everywhere_, this amount of blood wasn't natural, but neither were bullets…

"Alex!"

He didn't notice himself slipping or hyperventilating or anything of the sort, didn't notice himself falling off the seat. All he really saw was Mrs. Jones shouting something to driver while leaning over him, saying something that he just couldn't hear.

Then after that, he saw only darkness once again.

* * *

_"Let him sleep, Alan!"_

_"We need to know the details-"_

_"It's pretty obvious what happened."_

_"We still need to see if we missed anything. He should be able to handle this better."_

_"No, he shouldn't. Alex is just a child."_

_"He's no ordinary child."_

"Maybe, but he's still a child. He shouldn't be in this mess to begin with. After everything he's gone through for us, the least we can do is let him sleep."

But Alex couldn't sleep – not anymore, not with these annoying voices in the background.

Slowly, he turned around in…well, wherever he was, and opened his eyes to see Mrs. Jones and Alan Blunt standing over him.

They were silent as he slowly sat up to take a look around where he was. It was a room about twice the size of a classroom, full of bunk beds, all with pressed sheets and two pillows stacked up on each and somewhat-comfortable looking bluish-purple blankets, with more of all of these stacked up under the beds. He was in a bottom bunk near the door.

"This is the overtime room, Alex," Mrs. Jones said softly, answering his unasked question.

He looked down after a moment, slightly bewildered to see himself in some of his own night-clothes, sweat pants and an old band-shirt of Jack's.

"We sent an agent to fetch something from your home," Blunt said after a moment. "You needed a change of clothes, what with all that blood everywhere."

He nodded silently, unable to help but stare at the stupid Beatles graphic on the shirt. Jack had worn this a long time ago, but she'd never be able to wear them again. She was dead.

"Alex," Mrs. Jones said after a moment. From underneath the bed, she pulled out one of Alex's schoolbags, while pointing to one of the doors on the opposite wall. "Why don't you get dressed, and come with us to Alan's office? There are still some things we need to sort out."

Alex nodded, still having yet to say a word as he slid off the bed and grabbed the bag, heading over to the bathroom and locking it behind him.

Looking in the mirror, he saw himself, face and eyes blank, devoid of, well, anything. He felt numb, looked numb, was numb, and anyone who looked at him would see it. His eyes were blank and half-glazed over. There was a bandage on his cheek where the bullet had shot by. He was almost unnaturally pale, like he'd seen a ghost…or like he'd killed someone.

He looked away immediately, not wanting to deal with it. He only barely bothered brushing his hair, looking down while brushing his teeth, and changing with his back to the mirror. He didn't want to see…

At the very least, that agent seemed to read his mind of what Alex would mind. Dark, loose jeans, and his favorite gray hoodie, a thick and loose sweatshirt, which often made him feel like he was "wearing a hug".

Those were Jack's words, now that he thought of it – her words after she'd worn it a few times herself. In recent years, they've taken to 'stealing' each other's clothing more and more often, now that they were quite similar in size. She'd often joked that it wouldn't be long before he was taller than her.

Now it wouldn't matter.

He already missed Jack. He'd been away from her for longer amounts of time, but he still missed her already.

Damn Scorpia.

Damn MI6.

Damn him.

He looked in the mirror again. His eyes were empty. Shouldn't there be something in them? Regret? Sadness?

This was the first bloody time he'd really killed someone – that wanted to kill someone and they ended up dead because of him.

This time, it wasn't an accident. He'd attacked the man with the intent for him to die. No motor accident, no being there for the death, no doing something with a chain reaction involving death.

Just…pulling a trigger.

Alex could still feel the gun shooting right into the man, in his hands. He could still feel all that blood pouring over his hands, feel the man's heartbeat as it faded, feel the power of the organs tearing and that spine breaking, feel the man's terror, when he knew he going to die, feeling all of this through the cold metal of the gun.

He shut his eyes and turned away. He didn't want to look at himself.

Not anymore.

* * *

School bad still strapped over his shoulder, Alex walked alongside Mrs. Jones as they took an elevator and headed up several floors before appearing in front of Blunt's office. Mrs. Jones didn't even knock as she walked in. Alex silently trailed in behind her, taking a seat in his usual chair and setting down the bag while Mrs. Jones went to stand behind Blunt.

He glanced out the window, and saw it was evening already. He must've been asleep for several.

"Alex," Blunt said after a moment. He pushed an internet article, probably to be in the newspaper tomorrow, in front of Alex, and Alex only had to read the headline to know what was going on.

**Teenage Boy Accidentally Kills Robber In The Park**

Underneath, there was a photo of Jack, dead, the man, dead, and Alex, collapsed on the ground and unconscious, face and neck covered in blood. The caption read _'Alex Rider collapses after killing park-side mugger, who had killed Rider's guardian Jacqueline Starbright.'_

Huh. So her name _was_ short for Jacqueline.

"We couldn't keep your name out of it, completely," Mrs. Jones said. "But we pulled a few strings to implement the right lie. We even came up with a lie to explain why you were in a park instead of school. The same lie might be able to cover up your other school absences, as well."

Alex looked down and started reading.

_Early this morning, a mugger started shooting at two people strolling in the park, planning to rob them, when one of his bullets hit Jacqueline Starbright in the chest, killing her almost instantly._

_Alex Rider, recently released from the hospital from cancer treatment, tried to save Jack Starbright. He ended up having to wrestle the gun away from the gunman, which set it off right into the man's stomach, tearing through several vital organs and shattering his spine, killing him instantly._

_According to a nearby witness, Rider then collapsed onto the ground after handing the gun to police officer Ryan Sill._

_The gunman's name has yet to be discovered, and we were unable to get a word with Rider, who is currently giving a statement to the police about the day's events…_

It went on to say that he was currently in police custody until these things got sorted out.

Blunt also showed Alex an editorial from an online magazine, pegging Alex as some sort of tragic hero, and hoping he'd be all right after losing his uncle and housekeeper, along with accidentally killing the man, not to mention his 'cancer'. Tragic hero, indeed.

"Cancer patient?"

Those were the first words Alex had said since he'd woken up.

"If anyone decides to take a look into why you've been absent from school so many times, which they probably will, this would actually explain it. Cancer can be a long and rigorous battle."

"How do I explain still having hair?"

"Not all cancer treatments result in hair loss. You've been in an experimental drug trial for young cancer patients – one that results in a greater chance of recovery, less nausea, and keeping your hair."

"And bruises?" Some flaw, some plot hole, something to prove that MI6 was wrong about something, and they didn't cover everything…

"You have been advised to keep up a physical activity, your karate. You haven't been better or worse, but you bruise far more easily, now, with cancer."

He nodded silently.

"Would you like a drink?" Mrs. Jones said once again. "Perhaps a Coke?"

"Thank you," he mumbled, nodding, accepting the can a moment later.

"Alex," Blunt said again. "What did happen?"

"Apart from the fact the gunman was probably from Scorpia, this article pegged it right, pretty much. When Jack died, I tried to get the gun away, and it was set off."

"There was a witness who says you attacked the man."

Alex remained silent. It'd probably been the foodstand man.

"You can't let your emotions get the best of you, Alex," Blunt said.

"Says the man with no emotions."

Blunt obviously decided not to respond to that. But then again, he really had no emotions. Alex was sure of it.

Alex swallowed as he looked up at Blunt.

"So," he said after a moment. "What's going to happen to me now that I've finally killed someone?"

Blunt almost couldn't respond, his look simply calculating while he stared into Alex's lifeless eyes.


	4. Ultimatum

**A/N:**** Sorry for my shitty portrayal of Blunt. He's a hard man to write, I'll say that.**

**Anyway, why am I posting so soon? I don't know. I guess I'm just insane.**

* * *

_**Previously:**_

_Alex swallowed as he looked up at Blunt._

_"So," he said after a moment. "What's going to happen to me, now that I've finally killed someone?"_

_Blunt almost couldn't respond, his look simply calculating while he stared into Alex's lifeless eyes._

* * *

"Well, not much," Blunt said. "Even if the normal police were dealing with this, anyone and everyone would argue that this man was about to kill you. You tried to get the gun away, and his death was unfortunate but not intended. As MI6, we know he was an assassin, and whether or not you actually wanted him to die isn't particularly relevant for right now. There should not be any legal ramifications."

He nodded blandly and let out his breath.

"Then what's going to happen to me now that Jack's dead?"

"Your Uncle's money is paying off all major bills for the estate and such," Blunt said. "That shouldn't be too much of a problem at all."

"Am I going to live on my own?" Simple questions, loaded answers. Oh, the irony.

"No," Blunt said. "We will arrange to have a guardian for you, at least temporarily, both to have a guardian on paper to ward off any child protection services, and so that you may have someone to protect you until we have all the issues with Scoria sorted out. A bodyguard, of sorts."

"Who?"

"We haven't decided yet, but we will soon."

"You are going to be staying here while longer, anyway," Mrs. Jones cut in. "While we add some security to your home."

"Like what?"

"We'll be replacing all the glass with bullet-proof glass," Blunt said. "Add some more secure locks to all the doors – stronger metals, keypads, etcetera. We will be putting in some sensors – dangerous gases, fires, thing like that. Call buttons to get help anywhere in the house…"

"All this trouble…" Alex mumbled.

"It's no problem for us, Alex," Mrs. Jones said.

"You know, a gun would be easier – I could take care of any problems myself…as evidenced by that man in the park…" He couldn't help but let the slight, wry smirk slip on to his face, despite the sadness it was filled with.

There was a pause.

"Actually…" Blunt said, his look contemplative.

"Alan!" Mrs. Jones cut in. "We can't give him a gun – he's a child!"

Oh, what a _lovely_ hypocrite.

"Well that's just bloody _rich_," Alex spat. "You can send me spying, send me on near-fatal missions, _blackmail_ me into working for you, all without pay, and yet you can't let me have a bloody gun, or even just a knife or basically any form of an _useful_ weapon when you send me off! At this rate, going back to Scorpia is starting to sound better and better – at least they pay, and they'll give me all the guns I would ever need. And they let me take care of my bloody self!"

Both of them looked a little taken aback. Well, Mrs. Jones did, anyway – and Alex pretty much learned that her emotions stood for the both of them, usually. But Blunt's eyes did betray a certain amount of surprise.

"Alex," Mrs. Jones said. "Please-"

"No! I'm just sick of all this and I don't want to hear it!"

He didn't even wait before standing up and storming out of the office. He kicked the wall to the room he just left and then leaned against it, slowly slipping down until he was sitting against it, crouched up and curled tightly, fingers in his hair, chest heaving.

God, he missed Jack. Right now, he just wanted her to wrap her arms around him and let him cry. She was the only person in the world he cried for, and now she was gone. Now what was he supposed to do?

He took a deep, shuddering breath, calling on every technique from a lifetime of practice to stop the tears, to keep his face and emotions under control.

He'd meant every word he said.

That hit him just like the bullet did just two weeks prior.

He was really on the verge of going back to Scorpia. He still had that phone number in his head. Whilst that number itself was probably dead, Scorpia was probably still monitoring it. Just the slightest tip-off that he was looking for them, and they'd come find him.

Either they would take him on again…or they would kill him.

Win-win situation for him, either way.

* * *

"He has a point," she said after a moment when Alex left. They could see on the screen in front of them via security camera just outside that Alex was still there, trembling – but both of them had the sense to let him be.

"Are you developing a soft spot for him, Tulip? You know that's dangerous."

"I know, I know…not necessarily a soft spot – just an…understanding. No, before you say it, not empathy."

She paused.

"But Alex still has a point."

"What do you suggest, exactly?" Blunt asked, turning in his seat to face her.

"Well…paying him at least something akin to how we would pay a normal agent – if not fully. And a gun – as much as I hate saying this – might actually be beneficial to him."

"You really think all this?"

"Yes…maybe even leave his money unfrozen. I highly doubt that he'll actually go on a wild spending spree and buy something completely off the wall. He's very responsible for his age. I'm pretty sure he doesn't really want the money – it's just the simple lack of control. Up until this point…we have been blackmailing him. But now that our leverage has just been shot dead, I doubt he'll care anymore. We give him at least the illusion of free reign…he's more likely to stay with us. You heard him about Scorpia."

"You don't _really_ think that he would actually go looking for Scorpia? They've killed his father, mother, uncle, and now Jack Starbright."

"Maybe not Scorpia," She said woefully, sitting down in the chair next to the one Alex had just vacated. "But if someone comes up to him with a better offer, what reason does he have to say with us?"

Blunt slowly started to nod. "Makes sense, I suppose. However, there will be a lot of ramifications should we actually give him a gun and pay him."

"There will be a lot of ramifications he if dies or turns away."

He nodded again.

"How much do you think he'll require in payment?"

Mrs. Jones sighed.

"It's not really about payment or having a gun. He's upset that we haven't really recognized him as something beyond a tool to be monopolized, or given him real protection which would identify him, in a way, as an agent."

He looked at her.

"Your psychology major does seem to have more benefits in this line of work than one would expect," Alan said. She nodded.

"It doesn't really matter too much, I think, how much we pay him, so long as we do. He's a cross mix between a young child – an internal regression of sorts, by now – and an adult, from everything he's been through."

Blunt nodded again.

"I'll consider them both."

* * *

Alex glared at his knees as he finally started to calm down. Damnit, what he just did was stupid. But at this rate, he really was starting not to care.

He was starting not to care about anything. It was just so much bloody easier to not give a damn about anything, at all, ever. One can't get hurt that way.

He'd tried being strong and just bearing through all this, but bloody hell, there was only so much a bloke could take!

It was easier to not care.

Just so much fucking easier.

He simply sat there, breathing heavily and staring at the opposite wall, feeling somewhat grateful that there weren't many people coming. He already knew there were security cameras around here, so it was bad enough that Blunt and Jones would have to see his little breakdown – he didn't need anyone else being privy to this, as well.

He took a deep breath.

Finally.

He was calm. Shutting his eyes and resting his forehead on his knees, letting his hands fall to lace together under said joints, he swallowed the bile that threatened to rise.

He'd seen people die before. Hell, he was the one who _watched_ as Alexei Sarov shot himself in the head right in front of Alex…and because of Alex, as well. But with Jack…

Alex didn't want to be an assassin – but he can't deny that he's killed people. Or at least been extremely, heavily responsible for their deaths. Just look at Nile and Rothman – both killed by him and his actions.

And he hadn't even been remotely upset about it.

Wasn't he supposed to feel remorse or guilt or at least feel somewhat bad for being responsible for someone else's death? But he didn't. He didn't have the true assassin's rush of killing someone, but knowing he killed someone who had caused great harm to others had made Alex feel, at least for a little while, some sense of pride. People were not supposed to feel proud that they killed!Though, apparently, his father probably did, somewhat. Only killing those who deserved it and faking everyone else's deaths. Who knows, maybe the assassin life has its upsides, yet.

And when he just killed that assassin…he didn't remember what had gone through his head at that time, except maybe unending rage. But now, it just left him feeling…empty. Hollow.

And a little morose that he _didn't_ feel any guilt over ending that man's life.

Bloody hell, this entire mess was going to send him to an early grave. He should've jumped off that bell-tower in Malagosto when he had the chance. It would've been so much easier.

Well…he looked out the window at the end of the hall. How many floors up was he from the ground?

But he shook his head. Jack wouldn't want that. He knew it was stupid that the only reason he wanted to live was so's not to disappoint a dead woman, but he couldn't help it. It was probably just some deep, innate desire to continue living, despite all the misery. Damn preservation instinct.

Damn him.

He heard footsteps on the other side of that door, his now deep-seated paranoia never missing anything that went on around him anymore. So he was already looking up with a carefully blank face when Mrs. Jones stepped out the door.

"Would you like to come back inside?"

"What for?" Alex asked. "It's not like anything I ever say matters to you two. Just ship me off to that bloody boarding school – I don't want to work for you, and the only thing you had against me was Jack."

Mrs. Jones sighed.

"We _are_ incredibly sorry about that…it's the nature of the job-"

"Which I never wanted."

"Again…so sorry…"

"I'm sure you mean it," Alex said, his sarcasm dripping in his voice.

Another sigh and Mrs. Jones shut the door, standing over him. Once a upon a time, she would've appeared to be towering over Alex. Now…well, he wasn't sure what she was to him, now, but it definitely wasn't with a positive light – not in his eyes.

"Alex…what would you do if we _did_ pay you?" she asked.

Alex raised an eyebrow.

"If you…paid me?"

"For the things you _have_ done for us. What if we paid you like we would have paid a real agent?" she asked.

"You would _actually_ pay me?"

"If that's what it takes," Mrs. Jones said. "I'll be honest – it probably won't be as much as normal, per se. Mainly because of your age, and the technicality of how much of an education you have."

"Not like I'll be getting any more education," Alex growled. "My scores are dropping, because I'm off working for you lot so much. I'll fail and be expelled or something."

Mrs. Jones sighed.

"Would a tutor help?"

Alex gave her a calculating look.

"Why all this, all of a sudden?" he asked. "Suddenly, all the money, all the security, the tutoring…why _now_? Why the hell did it take my best friend and virtual sister _being murdered_ for you to do this?"

"I…I wish I had an answer for that, Alex."

"Well, I have one," Alex said, slowly uncurling and standing up as he spoke. "You don't see me as a person, or even an agent – you see me as a tool. After all, you don't even pay me – you blackmail me. So why bother with helping an exploited tool? After all, I'm just property, government property – MI6 property."

"We really don't see you that way, Alex."

"Of course not."

He just couldn't be bothered to quit the sarcasm. He noted absently that ever since he'd started working for MI6, he'd become a lot more sarcastic, and his sense of humor has long since become a lot darker and more morbid. Interesting. The life of espionage has infiltrated every aspect of his being – humor included.

Damnit.

"Alex…just listen to us, all right?" she asked. "We'll pay you…get you that tutor, help you with your schoolwork…" she paused and looked like she was being forced to swallow horse dung for a moment. "Alan's even considering that gun."

Alex felt only half surprised. He didn't have it in him to be surprised by anything, anymore.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, walking back into the office behind her. He still remained standing behind the chair, but he still faced Blunt as Mrs. Jones took her seat again.

"Well," Blunt said. "Despite evidence to the contrary, we do take agent requests seriously-"

"Even if it takes a while," Mrs. Jones muttered under her breath.

"-And we will try to sort things out in the area of payment and tutoring."

"If your school believes that you have cancer," Mrs. Jones said. "I'm sure they'll be happy to arrange for you to be a part-time student."

"A…part-time student?"

"If a student is ever in a situation, usually terminal illness, where regular attendance can be an issue, then part-time student means that you won't be marked down for absences, and any work done under a school approved tutor will count towards your coursework. You attend school when you can, and take tests at the end of the terms like everyone else, in when you're not there, you get tutored to catch up. If we continue with the cancer lie, it should be easy to follow in that path."

"Sounds…good."

"As for the gun…" Alan said. "I can understand your reasons for wanting an effective weapon for your self-protection. It is inevitable that this would happen – after a while, a majority of special agents end up carrying at least one weapon on them at all times. Perhaps we can have Smithers customize a gun for you."

Alex was still in a slight shock, but he slowly shook his head.

"Don't bother," he said. "You're only giving it to me because I asked for it and you're scared shitless I'll turn away. But it's not really going to be helpful, is it? I doubt a Scorpia agent would try to kill me in a way where a gun would be effective."

Now Mrs. Jones frowned.

"You've been asking-"

"It's not about the fucking gun!" Alex cried out, frustration filling his voice. He just wanted for all of this to be over and dealt with. "I'm not pissed about not having my own bloody gun. I'm pissed that you send me on fatal or near-fatal missions without a gun just because I'm a child, despite the fact I'm doing and adult's jobs and going through an adult's hell and bloody dealing with adult situations. Because of you, I'm not a bloody kid any more, but you only choose to see that when _you_ see fit!"

He paused and took a deep breath. He'd get nothing done while trying to act immature and on the edge of yelling at them. He slowly stepped around and took a seat again, trying to calm himself down.

"I'm not pissed about the gun," he said carefully. "I'm pissed that you send me in with minimal protection, and I'm pissed that you don't acknowledge the fact that I'm not a child any more and that I'm doing adult things, and that you don't acknowledge that I deserve the same things as any other _real_ agent in my position."

He swallowed, before looking them both in the eye and leaning back in his seat a little.

"Don't bother with a bloody gun, now. It's probably not going to be of much help, anyway, and I doubt you'll give me something useful. If I go on another mission, ever, or if I get in a situation where having one would actually be helpful, I'll take up that offer. But not now. I'll get one when I need it, not when I want it."

He decided not to mention the slight fact that he might seriously end up shooting himself once he had the chance if he got his hands on one.

Blunt was continually looking at him with his usual, analytical look. The fact that Alex could almost imagine _a trace of a trace_ of surprise in the man's eyes told him how much he'd truly thrown them off.

Mrs. Jones was just outright staring at him with a blank face and blanker eyes. If that was possible…which it apparently was.

"You truly have grown up, Alex, to think of all that," she said after a moment.

"And to think, it only took several fatal missions, getting shot, and my caretaker getting murdered, and me killing someone for you to figure that out."

She sighed.

"You've gone through a lot, lately-"

"No, really?"

"-and maybe some rest will be good for you. Why don't you go back to the overtime room and kip in for a bit?" Mrs. Jones suggested, almost soothingly. "You could use it – you look like death warmed up."

"I've been looking like that for quite a while," Alex said. "Might help with credibility for my cancer story," he muttered under his breath. He paused, then pushed himself into 'professional' mode, to get away from his emotions. "How are we going to explain me not telling them? To the school about the cancer, I mean."

"You wanted to keep your status private, and were too stubborn to actually inform them, and the doctor couldn't do anything about it and Jack Starbright wanted to abide by your wishes."

Alex nodded again. Figures they'd pin the idiocy part on him. But he didn't really care, at the moment. Focus on the present and just bloody forget the past or future.

"Just a question," Alex said. "What…what happened to Jack? Her body, I mean?"

"She has been brought to a private morgue within our building – our evidence room."

"Can I see her?" Alex asked.

He got a contemplative look in response.

"Yes," Mrs. Jones said after a rather _long_ moment. "The morgue is underground – not far from Smithers' office. I'll take you there."

Alex nodded, before once again, both of them left the office.

They headed for the elevator.

A maze of eerily familiar hallways later, and Alex was standing in front of a drawer as Jack's body was pulled out of the wall, black body bag glinting under the unforgiving florescent light. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself to look once again at Jack Starbright's lifeless eyes.

* * *

**A/N:**** Well, talking with JK Mafia got me to post this, so please remember to the lovely Madam Empress of Oranges plenty of, well, oranges, in her fic "A Close Protection, of Sorts".**

Also, quick note to **anonymous reviewers** (that's you, **Wolfmonster**! – JK Mafia was kind enough to tell me about you). **If you're not an anonymous reviewer/accountless, you don't have to read this:**

I'm sorry to have to block you, but it's a bit of a necessity. Most of the time, when people review anonymously, they don't leave e-mails, which means I can't respond to them.

Not only that, but most of the people who like to flame me and my stories always love to review anonymously and never leave a way to get back. I don't mind flames – I just mind not being able to contact these people to flame right back. And ever since two of my stories ended up on Deleterius (an entire Live Journal community devoted to flaming fanfics), I've been rather adamant about being able to respond to flames. Again, sorry, but it's a necessity.

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Madam Empress of Ostriches-**

**First Order MEO**


	5. Cheer Up

**A/N:**** I hate to say this, but this last chapter is mostly set-up filler. I actually hate this chapter with a passion. But please, bear with me.**

By the way, I went ahead and edited Chapters 1 and 3. After having the timeline pointed out by a lovely reviewer that Alex's birthday would actually have to be around mid-winter, I went back and edited that part of Chapter 1. And I edited the news article in Chapter 3 to make it sound more realistic and journalism-y. None of these edits have any impact on the story, but I'm just letting you know, so that no one will get mad at me trying to change anything sneakily or anything.

**Oh, and, Madam Empress of Oranges? This is the present I mentioned!**

* * *

_**Previously:**_

_"Just a question," Alex said. "What…what happened to Jack? Her body, I mean?"_

_"She has been brought to a private morgue within our building – our evidence room."_

_"Can I see her?" Alex asked._

_"Yes," Mrs. Jones said. "The morgue is underground – not far from Smithers' office. I'll take you there."_

_Alex nodded, before once again, both of them left the office._

_They headed for the elevator. A series of familial hallways later, and Alex was standing in front of a drawer as Jack's body was pulled out of the wall, black body bag glinting under the unforgiving florescent light. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself to look once again at Jack Starbright's lifeless eyes._

* * *

The zipper pulled back, and he stared at her corpse. It just wasn't right – Jack was _never_ this still. The bloody woman practically had ADHD – she never stayed this motionless, even in her sleep. She always moved around and talked in her sleep. He'd know – he's spent many a fortnight falling sleep beside her and in her arms, as a child, in front of the telly or in her bedroom or his after a night of just…what did she call it? Chilling? Hanging out? He never could always make sense of all her American phrases.

He blinked again, his thoughts coming back to the present.

Her lips were cold and blue. They haven't been so dark since the last time they went guising together and she used black lipstick…and black everything else, her vampire costume earning her many wolf whistles and cat calls while they were out, a laughing matter for the whole bloody week afterwards. What would they have done this year, for guising? She'd jokingly suggested that they go as spies, the kind from James Bond or Mission Impossible III, as a joke to his secret life.

Now what was he supposed to do? He only ever went guising with her. This wasn't right. They were supposed to have fun later and they were supposed to go and get as much candy as possible then she was supposed withhold enough from both of them to prevent dental damage. She was supposed to be bloody _alive_.

"This isn't right…" he mumbled. His brain was still as frozen as her skin. Her eyes were closed and her red hair was laid out around her head, unnaturally even, her fringes brushed away from her cold, pristine face. A sheet still covered her until just a bit below her neck, but her arms were still laid to her side, and not wrapped around a pillow or Alex like they were supposed to be when she slept.

She wasn't _alive_ like she was supposed to be when she slept.

"Alex?" Mrs. Jones asked after a moment, her silent question hanging not just in the air, but on it, the air thick with unspoken grief as Alex just stared at her face.

"What's going to happened to her, now?" he asked quietly. How was it possible for his voice to be so low and quiet in a _room_ this low and quiet?

"The body will be shipped to her family in Washington. They have already been informed of her death. They have been told the same thing as the newspapers…"

"Right…" he mumbled, only half-listening but still taking it all in. "Is there…is there any chance I could go to America? For the funeral."

Mrs. Jones shook her head. "I'm sorry, Alex – we're already taking a big risk letting you go back to your house and school. America just can't happen – not right now."

Alex nodded. What was he expecting?

He brought his fingers up, but held them in the air. What was he supposed to do?

Resting them on Jack's cold, cold arm, he leaned over her, taking in her features. Knowing how fast MI6 could be, when they wanted, Alex knew this would be the last time he'd ever see her.

He blinked back the moisture in his eyes, before slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, a spot of warmth on such cold skin. It was a small shock, but he didn't move, doing for her what she'd done for him for almost eight years.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled as he pulled his face up a moment. "I'm so sorry, Jack…"

Pausing for a moment, Alex looked down at her serene face. He should be comforted by the fact she was in a better place. Or at least, he hoped she was. He didn't know.

"Say hi to Uncle Ian, yea?" he mumbled. "For the both of us…"

He swallowed down the tears threatening to break free again, before suddenly taking a shuddering breath and turning away.

He heard the zipper being pulled up again and listened to the scraping of metal as she was slid back inside, just like a drawer.

Mrs. Jones led him to a counter, were the mortician's assistant pulled out a plastic box, with several random things inside.

Jack's things.

"Her personal effects…" Mrs. Jones said. "Except for her clothes, phone, and wallet, for the obvious reasons."

Alex nodded. Her hair clip, two hair ties, a purse, and a few things for vanity.

Her purse was on top. Crafted in fine silk, made and bought in Japan, it was small but useful. It was mostly old cinema tickets and receipts and her clear-plastic make-up pouch. He still couldn't tell apart one item of make-up from another, no matter how many times he's watched her use them.

A friendship bracelet Alex made her when he was seven, just two months after they'd first met. It was black, with a zig-zag blue center and a blue, and had a blue, glass bead for the clasp. He brought it up to his face for a moment as memories of making it for her and giving it to her for _her_ birthday came back.

He clutched it tightly for a moment, before he took a deep breath again and looked back.

The only other major thing left was a necklace. A St. Luke's cross necklace from Kit Heath. Ian had ordered it online and both of them had given it to her for Christmas just about five years ago. She'd never taken it off since then.

It was a beautiful Celtic cross, with flowing silver on a thin, elegant chain. It had soon become quite a strange sight to see her without it.

Then again, it was quite a strange sight to see her dead.

He realized he was crying when a lone tear snuck down his face while he clutched the chain tightly in his hands, staring it glowing with its own light under the harsh fluorescents.

Jack would never wear it again.

Ever.

And it was all his fault.

"Alex?"

He took another shuddering breath through his nose before turning to look at Mrs. Jones.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's all right," Mrs. Jones said.

Alex nodded, turning to look at the necklace and the bracelet, before silently draping the necklace around himself, clasping the chain behind his neck, the cross itself resting not far below his neck. The bracelet was a little too big for Alex's wrist, so he bent down and put it on around his ankle. He reached inside the box and picked up the purse, his intent lying mostly on getting the old cinema tickets inside as he dropped it into his bag.

He turned around, facing Mrs. Jones again.

"I…let's just leave. Please."

She nodded and strode out the door.

"The overtime room?" she offered. She was being far too nice, and far too motherly. Alex knew it was fake. At least it didn't feel _too_ fake. He could stand it.

"No…I'd never get to sleep…"

It was rather obvious way.

"Would you like to see Mr. Smithers for a while?" she asked. "I know seeing him tends to cheer you up."

Alex allowed himself a small smile. He could use that. Anything, a distraction, something to do…

"Yea, it does."

She hit a different button on the elevator and they got off sooner, before she led him down the hall to Smithers' lab.

"I have to go back upstairs," she explained. "Do you know your way back to our office?"

"I think so, yeah," he said. "Eighth floor, three doors down the hall from the elevators?"

She nodded and left without another word, while Alex knocked on Smithers' door.

The door opened on its own as soon as Alex finished knocking. A moment later, Smithers appeared in the doorway.

"Alex!" the jolly bloke greeted him. "Come in, come in."

"Hello, Smithers." When did his voice become so wispy and quiet?

Shutting the door behind MI6's youngest spy, Smithers gestured for Alex to sit on a stool by the work bench. Alex silently took the seat, lips set in a straight line.

"I'm so sorry to hear about your caretaker," Smithers said. "How are you doing?"

"Just fine," Alex said with a carefully planted smile. An upside of being a spy were the acting and lying skills one gained in that line of work. He wasn't going to put a dampener on the one thing he had right now to cheer him up and keep him from having a mental breakdown.

"I figured you would need quite some cheering up," he said, gesturing around his rather large tech lab. "Anything that interests you?"

"Aren't you in the middle of working?" Alex asked blandly, looking around at the multitude of assistants working on random things in the lab.

"Actually, right now, I'm just checking over the security designs for your house," Smithers said, gesturing to a bunch of blue prints on the table which, indeed, were of the house in Chelsea. "Though there's not much I need to do."

"Why not?" Alex frowned, looking in to the house. The outer blue prints were the same as the house…but the engineering of the internal design were a little strange. "And what's all this?"

"Well, mostly because your uncle's already made the house quite secure. The paint is somewhat fire resistant – not much, but certainly enough."

Explains how Jack and Alex never managed to set the house on fire when they started experimenting with their cooking.

"The walls and glass are all bulletproof. We're only replacing the glass with a newer type of glass, able to withstand higher-caliber bullets. There are chemical and fire sensors in there, including sensors specifically to search for bomb-typical components."

Alex nodded again. Hm, if it had all those, he can get how he and Jack never burned down the house, but how come they rarely set off the alarm when they kept burning things while messing around?

Oh, well. He doubted he'd find out. Jack was gone – there _was_ no one to mess around with in the bloody kitchen on lazy Sunday mornings.

"It also has a very nice robber's alarm set in," Smithers continued. "We're simply arranging it to now also send a signal to MI6, along with the usual blaring and sirens and all that."

Alex nodded. He should've known that's what his uncle would do. How come he never thought of it before?

_Did he set this security up for him, or for me?_

That was one question Alex wasn't entirely sure he _wanted_ answered.

"I'll be placing in a few hidden emergency call button, catering them to your fingerprints, along with anyone else MI6 deems 'safe'," Smithers said.

So MI6 gets to choose. Why wasn't he surprised?

"After that, it's just a basic manner of you needing to take care of yourself."

Alex nodded.

"How do you change the fingerprints and who can come into the house and all that?

"With the way I make them, most of them are easy to reset after you simply prove you're you. Fingerprint, DNA, MI6 ID-"

"MI6 ID?" Alex asked. Smithers gave him an odd look.

"Don't you have an MI6 ID?"

"…I don't even know what that is." Well, he had a vague idea. But he wanted to keep Smithers talking. MI6 was taking over his life again, and he wanted to know everything to pull the rug out before that could happen.

Smithers sighed. "It's, well, an ID – but for MI6. Gets you through the building and whatnot. If any law enforcement ever tries to arrest you, this will tell them to let you go, ect…"

"So why don't I have one?" Alex asked.

"That's the thing – I thought you did."

Now Alex almost growled as he looked down at the blueprints before him. "Blunt and Jones. They can't give it to me – it would give me free reign to come into the building, not to mention I could control those security systems you mentioned…"

Smithers shook his head to himself as he pulled up a laptop.

"Well, I have to say I disagree. But don't worry – I'm friends with the head of MI6's more bureaucratic departments. And…good."

Alex frowned, and Smithers showed him the laptop. It showed some sort of file of sorts – and it was Alex's, by his picture, name, and all the nonsense of numbers and letters underneath.

"You're already a registered agent in our system. Which means getting you one is very simple."

He turned the laptop back, Alex fidgeting in his seat as he continued to stare at the blueprints for his home. So much had been hidden and he'd been _living_ in it all for his whole life without noticing it.

_How the bloody hell did I miss so much? How much more did Uncle Ian hide from us?_

Alex looked up as Smithers tapped a few last keys, and he smiled. "The actual card will take a few minutes, to print and get here from that department…but here's how it'll look, front and back."

He turned the screen back around and smiled as Alex leaned over the edge to take a closer look.

It was an interestingly different looking ID. The card was black instead of white, with bright blue writing, and his picture was on a beige-white background, with the MI6 insignia emblazoned in gold across the whole thing, in a way that one had to tilt it in the light to see it.

On the back, it said _Level 3 Security Clearance_ and _Case Officer Status 3_ under that, along with a smaller version of the same insignia underneath. Across the middle was a barcode, next to a fingerprint, presumably his, and across the bottom, it had 6(02)/02131993-001/03, with SIS-(SO)/CO-SC:03 underneath that.

"I suggest you keep this to yourself," Smithers said, and Alex smiled at the childish joke. Part of him actually liked the idea of a "secret ID". That small, tiny part of his soul that remembered what a child was, what it was like to be one.

So small a part of his soul…

"What's all this, then?" Alex asked, pointing to the numbers and letters, trying to make sense of it all.

"Well, put simply, it's your ID – for government use only, though. The back is the most important part."

"Case officer? Level 3 security clearance? And what do the letters and numbers mean?"

"Quite simple, really. You _are_ a case officer – meaning you carry out foreign intelligence operations – and you have a status of 3, out of 14 levels of status operations, and three is actually pretty good. So long as you're above four, there really isn't much you can't see, apart from mostly files of people above you."

Alex's eyebrows rose. He had a bloody status? He never considered how "official" his presence was inside MI6, or _what_ his presence was in the system. Shit – how much had Blunt and Jones hid from him?

Oh, who was he kidding – they hid everything.

"How did you get me up this high? I was never allowed this much, before."

There was a mischievous glint in MI6's top technician. "Alex…they have you set down as a case officer, officially, especially because of all the bloody hell you've gone through. You'd be surprised how much of what goes on in MI6 is purely statistical – and how it works. You were probably starting out at about a 9 or so…but with your missions and all that, you're now a 3. Almost as high as you get, really. Almost. Though, best not to mention it to Blunt or Jones. I don't know how much they know, and let's not give them a reason to look into it."

While it was still a miniscule smile on Alex's, it was real, this time – his first real smile since…well…Jack.

It was nice to have _something_ over Blunt and Jones, even if it was something stupid like a status, or an ID. After so long of them having the upper hand, Alex might at least have just some slight help to tug out that rug…

"And the numbers and letters?" Alex had to understand it all if he wanted to truly get _anything_ over Blunt, Jones, and MI6.

"The numbers are your MI6 ID. There's a bunch of meanings and whatnot behind the numbers, but it's rather complicated. Though, if anyone happens to understand it, if the take a look at just the number, they'll see how old you are, that you're MI6, a case officer, and have a level three security clearance. It's a little difficult to explain, but I'll try…"

Alex nodded as Smithers explained how the numbers worked. Though bloody hell, it was complicated. Was it purposely designed as such?

He has to stop asking questions to himself with such obvious answers. Of course it was.

"And the letters?"

"Mostly the same thing in a different form, honestly, but more streamlined, so someone barely has to look. SIS is, well, the obvious. SO is special ops, CO-SC is for Case Officer and Security Clearance, which again, you're at level three. 1-14 is basically our version of rank, and if you're above a 4, you're…well, most anyone in civil service or intelligence will know it's best to listen to you. Anyway, that's SIS-(SO)/CO-SC:03."

Alex smiled.

"A lot of power for a bunch of silly numbers and letters."

"One of the only upsides to the convoluted bureaucracy that is our government, m'boy."

Alex was _actually smiling_ at this point, which was really saying something. He was right, coming down here had been a good idea. Finally, he was getting some overdue rewards from MI6, even if it was just recognition. "Thanks, Smithers…this really means a lot to me." He actually swallowed. Damn.

But Smithers smiled. Being Alex's only friend in MI6, he was largely sympathetic to Alex's plight, and his general distaste for all things MI6 – and the man helped soften the blow just ever-so-slightly, enough to help Alex get a hidden rise out of all this.

"Just be careful with it. But keep it on you – for one thing, if you get arrested by the police again, just have them take a look at this. Not to mention that now, you can come in and visit any time you want – me, or…er, anyone else. No need to call. A little bit of free reign."

There was a sudden bang from that the assistants were working on, on the other side of the lab.

"Oh, that better not be my exploding tennis balls, again…" he said, running off, shouting over his shoulder, "It's yours, Alex! I'll be back in a tick."

Alex looked back at the card on the screen. Bloody hell, he didn't know he had so much fucking power. If nothing else, it was some recognition – and that was almost all he ever wanted, instead of being treated like some damned _tool_ by the MI6 heads. At least now, he was a person. Or at least as much of a person as a print, picture, and a bunch of numbers and letters were when in MI6.

He was starting to understand how Blunt and Jones were able to send him on so many missions and all that, along with everyone else, even when it was almost certain to cause death. After all, how much emotion can someone feel sending in a 'number' to a 'statistical scenario'?

He silently memorized the numbers and letters, easy enough when you understood the system behind them. But he needed to keep these in his head, just in case. He liked Smithers and all, but if there was one thing Alex learned from all his work with MI6, it was this: Trust _No_ One.

"Sorry about that," Smithers said as he came back, face covered in soot.

"Do I even want to know what that was about?" Alex asked.

"Not really."

Smithers smiled again, holding something out in his hand.

It was the actual card.

"How-"

"Technical details, Alex – no need. Keep it, it's yours. Again, get out of problems with the police – depending on what you did, anyway. And not to mention you can now come in any time you wish. All you ever have to do is go into any elevator you wish when you come in here. Press the insignia to the surface of the fireman call button and push – it'll scan the microchip inside the card and after that, the elevator will take you to MI6 instead of the bank front."

Alex smiled again as he carefully slid that small, plastic rectangle if hidden and minute power into his wallet. One day, he'd surprise Blunt and Jones with this little sly of the hand. One day, there'd be hell to day from them for ruining his life.

Just as he was about to speak again, there was suddenly a ringing sound…from his pocket?

His phone was ringing. That bloody iPhone…he answered, anyway.

"Hello?" Alex asked apprehensively.

"Alex," Mrs. Jones said. "Please come up to Mr. Blunt's office. Immediately."

"Right. Bye, Mrs.-"

She hung up before he could finish. Figures.

"I have to go," Alex said, sighing. "To the plank, I guess."

Smithers smiled again, more gently this time.

"If you ever need anything…feel free to come by. You need all the help you can get, and I'm happy to be the one providing it. Even if it's just a little lunch of sorts, or just a little company. Just call to make sure I'm here and not somewhere else. Or even just come in – most everyone here likes you, Alex."

Alex smiled a little sadly as he slid off the stool, eyes resting on the damn blueprints.

"I think you lot are the only ones."

"I guess I don't know, m'boy. But go on up, now. I'm sure we'll see each other soon."

Alex gave him another sad smile and left. Time to begin the end of his life.

* * *

"Yes?" Alex said as he walked in, not even bothering with a greeting, in typical MI6 fashion.

"We have selected someone who should be very effective in protecting you…and you can take care of your self in other aspects, we assume," Mrs. Jones said.

"He has been in Baghdad for the last six months," Blunt said. "His entire unit is on a bit of a reprieve duty, which means that for a year or so, they will be doing more work in the city and local country. Using him to guard you will be simply more convenient. That, and we are in charge of living arrangements for SAS units, so this will take care of that aspect as well. You should recognize him: Jason Webber."

Alex frowned. "Who?"

Mrs. Jones turned Blunt's monitor around, and Alex's jaw dropped. No, it couldn't be…but it was.

"WOLF?! From SAS? Why him of all people?"

"Well, for starters, you _did_ train with him," Blunt said. "We do, occasionally like to have people protected by someone they know and trust to care for you-"

"I don't trust him to care for me! The man made me miserable in my training-"

"But," Mrs. Jones said, sliding a piece of paper which, Alex could see, was filled with Wolf's credentials. "It doesn't matter if you trust him to care for you. Exceeded dramatically in his 18-week training, an additional 6 weeks of specialist training, and has particular knowledge of defending against terrorist attacks, and assassination attempts. He even took a bullet for you in Pointe Blanc. You may not trust him to care for you…but do you trust him to guard your life?"

Alex sighed. Wolf was a bloody bastard, but he was still SAS – and a very well trained SAS agent, as well.

"Yeah, I do," he said regretfully as he set the credentials down. Now what was MI6 shoving him into? Hell on Earth, the sequel?

Mrs. Jones nodded. Did she just read his mind? Well, regardless, it answered.

"There will be a few things that need to be cleared up, mostly in Baghdad and the consulate, but he should be here soon – three days, at the most."

Alex nodded.

"So, until then…?"

"If it's one thing we know about Scorpia," Jones said. "We know that they don't do things of this importance too quickly. It will probably be at least a week or so before they try again. For two or three days, we do believe you will be just fine on your own."

Alex nodded. This was good – at the very least, he would get some time alone. While being here was all right and visiting Smithers was great, Alex did still want to be alone, in the end. If to rest – truly rest, away from this world entirely – and not much else. Just fall asleep and not wake up for a few days.

"So…" Alex said. "Anything else I should know?"

"There isn't much else," Mrs. Jones said. "The locks now have security codes on them, along with needing keys. The number needed to get in is 60203, and should be relatively easy to remember."

Alex nodded again.

Another nod. "That it?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Jones stood up from her seat next to Blunt.

"I'll take you to be driven back home, after picking up everything from Smithers."

With a curt nod to Blunt, Alex got up and left, walking down to the garage behind Mrs. Jones.

Alex got into the same car that brought him here, sitting back as the driver expertly navigated the streets of London, before easing into Chelsea, and finally arriving in front of his home.

"Remember, Alex-"

"60203. I know."

Mrs. Jones smiled, motherly, almost making Alex want to gag, and she watched as Alex entered in the numbers in the small pad under the door. As Alex shut the door behind him, he saw them in the car already driving off.

He turned around and looked back in. The last time he'd been in this house, Jack was still alive. There was already so much to remind him of her. The mismatched pile of shoes in the closet, the array of coats, her spare set of keys still in the nearby tray next to some random bit of lip-gloss…

Alex sighed before collapsing onto the couch and staring at the clock on the wall.

Two in the morning. Hm…three days of peace until Wolf got here. Three days. Just three days. Tops.

Sighing, Alex laid back against the arm of the couch and closed his eyes, begging his mind for sleep, dream less sleep, just so he wouldn't have to remember looking into Jack's lifeless eyes.

* * *

**A/N:**** So, there ends Lifeless Eyes, and Part I of the Night Cast Series.**

Thanks to **JK Mafia** for being there as I wrote this and offering me advice when I asked to make sure this wasn't as much of a shit hole as it originally was. Please remember to go check out her story and leave her plenty of oranges. And thanks to **CunningMascara** for pointing out several holes and irregularities in the story and helping me make it stronger, even if unintentionally. Please, m'lady, keep it up - I need all the help I can get!

And, of course, shameless advertising: I've made two banners for the story Lifeless Eyes, the links for which are at the top of my profile. Also, I've started a writing blog with tips for writing - mostly geared towards fanfiction, though really helpful in all circles of writing. **If you are a writers, please check out the blog.** It's very helpful, and you can find the link for it as the top of my profile.

_**Up Next**_

**Part II: _Three Days Grace_**

**I'm sure plenty of you know that 'Three Days Grace' is actually the name of a band. (And if you didn't, now you do.) Why do I name my 10-chapter fic after a band? Well, if you can't guess, you'll find out when I post in exactly one week. (Though, anyone who does figure it out will get an honorable mention when I post the first chapter). **Keep this story on your alert - I'll update an announcement when I post _Three Days Grace_, and take it down soon after.

**See y'all in a week! (Unless you read my story 'Malagosto', in which case, see y'all in four days!)**


	6. Message of the Muse's Scribe AN

_**Update Alert**_

To all my reader who plan to, well, continue reading in this series: I have updated the first chapter of this fic's sequel: **Three Days Grace.**

And might I say, how the bloody hell did _no body_ figure WHY I named the fic after I band? I mean, seriously – BAND. Well, anyway, as no one figured has it out, I guess I'll just have to tell you:

All ten chapters of Three Days Grace will be songfics. And all the songs are by – you guessed it (hopefully) – Three Days Grace.

I was originally going to just take this update down, but then I thought I'd have a little fun.

As anyone who's been paying attention to A/N's will know, this is a _series_. As such, I've already plotted out the story that'll come after Three Days Grace. (I just have to finish writing Three Days Grace).

I'm going to be leaving a little riddle to see who can figure out what the title of Part III will be. (If you get it right, then you'll get an honorable mention in Chapter 1 of Part III).

It's a four word title, so this is a four stanza poem. Each stanza is a word.

-

**Ascension, of a an almost holy kind**

**Above power and up the ranks**

**A novelistic mirror of sorts,**

**To anything that's been once sank.**

-

**Originally once used to mean an origin,**

**Now used as a reference, today,**

**Read carefully for the answer in my whimsical lines,**

**In the First and Third, it lays.**

-

**So commonly used in every day,**

**A noun it does denote.**

**I shall give you the obvious answer,**

**For my second line's its host.**

-

**And lastly of all, a holy form,**

**Donned upon wings of faith.**

**A pure-made form, cast of the heavens,**

**The last word of this title's fate.**

-

You can guess as many times as you want. Just don't expect me to tell you if you're right or not.


End file.
